Nights at The Opera

Being a country boy from the suburbs of Geneva , Kentucky, I have often been hopelessly unprepared when I have been exposed to events of a cultural nature.Over the past few years I have accompanied Sandra Kay to theatrical and musical shows that present challenges to the previously naive mind of yours truly. Growing up amongst the country boys and colleagues from Danny Coffman's Garage, the closest things to sophisticated culture was going to the Davis Drive-In Theater and watching the likes of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, or Charles Bronson as they applied a little bit of manliness to the big screen. Given the choice of watching Dirty Harry or The Vienna Boy's Choir posed no dilemma to me; "Go ahead, Make my day!" was the rally call for my life. Somehow in the past few years I have taken some wrong path and I have gone to far too many plays and concerts of what we of my childhood would have considered less than manly. The first chink in my manliness was "The Phantom Of The Opera" in New York City. Any self respecting man from Lincoln County would not have gone, but the things we do for love. The time passed rather rapidly as I honestly slept through 3/4 ths of the debacle, only to go the next night to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas Gala. I stayed awake through the Rockettes, but must admit to a couple of catnaps. Speaking of which , "Cats"has to go down as the lowest level that I have ever sunk in the ever scandalous plunge that I have been taking in the name of culture. Numerous trips to the Louisville theaters , Broadway shows in NYC and Chicago, and several events at Centre College has done little to raise my sagging self-esteem. A couple weeks back saw Sandy, Tim, and myself go over to the Norton Center for the Arts in Danville for a touring performance of a Swedish group playing the music of Abba. Now as much as I love music I have to admit that I didn't like the sappy, soft rock of Abba when they were actively performing. I never owned an Abba Disc until I had seen "Mama Mia". I think my willingness to participate in this theatrical stuff is directly related to Diovan or Lipitor , or maybe a lower sperm count, but nontheless here I am. Back to the Abba show, we walk in and see the stage is festooned with big rock amps, drums ,and ass kicking guitars. Maybe this thing has potential. It ain't Merle Haggard but it sure isn't Swan Lake either! I must explain that the Centre College Norton"s Program has traditionally been a glimmer of light in an area acknowledged as bereft of anything but fall festivals and pie suppers at the local schools. That is not to say however that attendance at such galas is not without perils. The average age of Norton Centre Subscribers is just short of 80 years old , and their intolerance for anything short of the Boston Pops is legendary. It has amused me that most of the lower areas left in protest when "Rent " came to town. It seems the Blue Hairs didn't care too much about 525,600 Minutes. In an equally poignant moment one of the goddesses of culture walked out on B J Thomas as he sang "Amazing Grace", acappella, no less.She must have felt he didn't live up to the standards of her local Presbyterian Choir. Somehow B J didn't live up to her standards. As I watched the old codgers slowly file in and take up their seats in the orchestra area just 3 or 4 feet from the stage, I told Sandy that there would be grey hair, blue hair , and toupees blown upwards to our cheap seats by the amplified instruments, and I was not disappointed. The opening number was so loud that some immediately left. There were two female singers that did a very servicable job musically ,as well as showing a lot of female anatomy. The younger of the two, a buxom blond , while perfectly presentable, have been a lot more comfortable in white tights 2 or 3 sizes larger than she wore, while her companion , an older redhead seemed more comfortable letting most of her butt cheeks swing unimpeded fron white satin hot pants. I certainly believe in female liberation and her liberated ass cheeks inspired me to more attempts at equality. The couple to the left of Tim probably met as teenagers in 1915, and had dressed up for an evening of entertainment. The tall, stately gentleman rose to leave during the third song, and his companion pulled him down. She was not so successful at the next song, and they both stumbled over our feet in their haste to leave. I don't know what they were thinking the show was to be. Maybe the next time they'll research the groups. To give them the benefit of a doubt maybe Granddad was inspired by the swaying butt cheeks of the redhead and had compelling amorous intentions, but I think not. They looked like they thought this show was Swan Lake. In hindsight the Abba show had its moments. Dancing Queen was done to perfection , and Voulez-vous seemed acutely appropriate to the red head's derriere . As I gaze back through the Mackeral skies of late autumn maybe voulez-vous has become my new anthem. Folks down in the lower, aristocratic seats said the red head was pretty old compared to the buxom blond. That's another reason to get cheaper upper seats , as your fantasies have full rein without doses of reality.